


I Want This

by AngelGirl4212



Category: KoRn (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 06:18:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20596103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelGirl4212/pseuds/AngelGirl4212
Summary: Reg helps Jon work through something.





	I Want This

**Author's Note:**

> I know I said that I would never slash Jon. Oh well, I lied. I don't own them or Jon would be forced to sing me lullabies (for example, “Thoughtless” would be an awesome lullaby) and rub my tummy until I decided that 21 years old is too old to be rocked to sleep. I made everything up, nothing like this really happened. Story takes place at any time, there's nothing mentioned that sets it within a specific time frame.

The kisses, harsh and undeniably male, crushed his lips and, for a moment between the pleasure and the pain, his confused mind wondered why he was allowing this. His body stilled with these thoughts and the lips on his own moved , the comfort of another's tongue willing the unanswerable questions away.

Hands stroked his body; touching his sides, his back, his ass...everywhere with the same passionate , but strangely gentle, pressure. He wanted to run from those hands. So strong was the desire that he could actually see himself pulling away from this man. But, there was also a desire to stay. It was this desire that kept his body rooted to its spot and his hands clasped awkwardly around his friend's hips. This was the emotion that confused him. After all that had happened, after the rape in his childhood, wouldn't this act belittle his pain? He closed his eyes against the question, but it refused to be willed away.

“You okay?” The hoarse whispers caressed his ear and Jonathan involuntarily gasped at the feel of hot breath against his naked flesh. “Do you want me to stop?”

He didn't answer...couldn't answer. Too consumed by his confusion and torn by his conflicting desires, he found that he could do little more than stand there willing the other man to make the crucial decision for him. He knew that he wouldn't...knew that the dark eyes meeting his own would demand an answer rather than risk the personal cost associated with being the victim of a much regretted sexual encounter. He closed his eyes.

“Jonathan,” and the tongue was gone, leaving his mouth aching. “You have to answer me, buddy. We talked about this.”

And they had. Drawn out discussions lasting hours until he finally admitted to Reg (and to himself) that he wanted this. It was hard and the decision still left him conflicted.

“I want this,” the voice that left his mouth was strangely calm. He was distracted by that voice...The voice from somewhere beyond his shaking legs and muddled emotions.

The distraction didn't last long as the hands returned to his body and the lips attached themselves, warm and demanding,onto the soft flesh if his exposed neck. He moaned somewhere deep within his throat, but didn't recognize the moan as his own.

His shirt dropped to the floor, a plain black t-shirt that had been pulled from the dryer just that morning. Reg's shirt followed, although Jon honestly couldn't recall the colour of that shirt. That item of business taken care of, a hand slipped beneath the waistband of his jeans and, just barely, into hos cotton boxer shorts. His breath hitched and for a terrible (yet comfortable) second, he felt his lungs and throat close in panic.

“You still okay?” no caress this time, just concern.

He opened his eyes. To Reg it was amazing to see the brown portals open a floodgate of emotions; to Jonathan, the concern (and yes, love, he had to have seen that) reflected back at him dulled the panic brought on by the hardness he could feel pushing through his personal space.

“Yeah.”

No bravado, here. The tension in the air so thick that he had almost burst into half-hysterical laughter (or to see the hurt fill Reg's eyes as growing discomfort forced him to take up a more comfortable role—_What the fuck,man. You seriously want in my pants? Fucking sick motherfucker_).

And the hand that had been just inside his boxer shorts grasped his semi-erect penis. Air was forced through clenched teeth and Reg chuckled.

“Relax, you asshole,” the voice light and normal, “I won't hurt you.”

And he knew that...or, at the very least, he thought that he did. As the rhythm of the hand stroking his intimate parts sped up, his thoughts were momentarily forgotten. Reaching out, he timidly touched somewhere near the waistband of loose-fitting ADIDAS track pants.

“Go ahead.”

It wasn't a demand, it wasn't permission; it was the affirmation that was supposed to banish self-doubt from the playground of sexual adventure. Even so, he paused once more before finally groping for the erection that he had felt against his own body only minutes before.

He touched it (_“Go on...Touch it. If you touch it, I'll give you a nice shiny quarter”_). His eyes closed when his fingertips met the hot flesh straining against the soft material. Bile threatened to rise at the back of his throat as deeply buried memories scratched on the inside of rotting cotton lids. He pushed them away, concentrating on the 'now'. Nothing existed outside this room, nothing outside of this man...

“Can I...” the question struggled on his lips. “Your pants...They....”

Reg laughed again, amused but not mocking, “Of course.”

Growing bold, Jonathan removed his hand from its position, still hovering over his band mate's erection , and began pulling off the remaining clothing. Quick movements, eager in their intensity, pulled both bodies free of any restrictions and both men collapsed on the hotel bed.

***

On his back, calmed by friendly eyes above him, he accepted the desperate kisses and answered them with his own fervor. He grew still only when his legs were lifted over his friend's shoulders and the blunt head of his penis touched **there**.

As if reading his mind, “We can still quit, you know.”

It was Jon's turn to laugh. After all this preparation, this mental torment could still be wasted with one word. Biting the inside of his mouth, he nodded, indicating that he had heard and understood the comment. Understanding, Reg began to slowly push himself into the constricting warmth of his friend's body.

“Fuck,” the familiar, if half-forgotten, feeling of a weight on top of him and the pressure of being filled threatened to raise the bile at the back of his throat.

He was going to ask Reg to stop when a mouth crushed down on his (_can't scream can't scream can't __**breathe**_). He felt himself tense, felt hands attempt comforting strokes on his sides, felt his nails dig desperately into his friend's shoulders...He was drowning. The water filling his nostrils even as his mind wanted to fly above this mess. The weight on top of him pushing him further under water under water and he knew with sudden clarity that he was going to...

...and suddenly it was good. The weight that had been pinning him, forcing him down, was oddly comforting and the pressure that had been filling his abdomen with pain was now filling it with a type of (terrible) pleasure.

“You okay?”

Jon looked into the face above him, touched one stubbled cheek and smiled, “You ask me that one more time and I'm going to kick your fat worthless ass back to fucking Bakersfield.”

Reg laughed and the laughter vibrated deep within him. The sensation wasn't unpleasant and Jonathan felt the blood rush to his groin. Noticing this, Reg's left hand left Jon's side and snaked between their joined bodies. He grasped the shaft and laughed.

“It's about time you made an appearance,” he laughed and the laugh was good.

***

The pounding was hard enough to have him minutely concerned with hitting his head off the headboard, but the mouth on his and the tongue wrapped around his and sucking gently prevented his hands from reaching out to avoid any head injuries. His hands stroked Reg's back in time to their movements. When his hands weren't on Reg, they were on his own body determined to satisfy his needs and work towards his own pleasure.

Reg's hand replaced his, working him to the time of his thrusts. A pressure of a different sort began to build within him and he closed his eyes. A single cry escaped his parted lips as semen began to spurt from the tip of his erection, splattering on both of their stomachs. Reg continued to thrust hard into him until he reached his own satisfaction. When he came, it was with a howl. He collapsed on the form beneath his as his softening penis reluctantly slipped out of its constraints. Reg lay only for moments before sitting up and carefully removing the condom from himself.

He looked at Jon, carefully searching for any signs of pain or regret. Finding none, he smiled. “Shower?”

***

Accustomed to waking early to start the work day, Jon woke well before sunrise. Removing himself from the tangle of limbs and sheet, he made his way to the small bathroom. Pulling his penis free from the boxers he put on after the shower, he filled the toilet bowl with urine. He flushed and then washed his hands with the complimentary pink flower-smelling blob.

“Gross.”

He was startled by a voice from the bathroom doorway, “What's gross?”

He pointed to the sink, “The soap.”

Reg moved closer, but his attempt to place a kiss on Jon's mouth was blocked by a quick turn of his head, “Don't.”

“Why?”

“I really appreciated what you did...What we did...but there can't be an 'us' and...” he paused, unsure, “...and....well....you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Reg watched Jonathan dress...he watched with caring eyes even as his heart was breaking. Jon's words (_There can't be an 'us'_) running through his heart. Jon picked the car keys up from the night table, breaking through his thoughts with a message that came in loud and clear even before the question popped out of his mouth.

“Are you ready to go?”

Reg nodded and followed his friend from the hotel room.

The End


End file.
